


Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too

by Atsvie



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atsvie/pseuds/Atsvie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Wade have phone sex. Or more specifically, Peter is awful enough at it that Wade takes the lead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too

**Author's Note:**

> Written for gazzymouse and her headcanon post that Peter is terrible at phone sex on tumblr. Title from the song by Say Anything.

Peter is woken up by the sound of his phone buzzing innocently on his bedside table. Groaning he rolls over, tangled in the mess of blankets, and swats at the table for his phone. The light of the screen is harsh on his eyes but he quickly raises the phone to his ear, rubbing his eyes with the other hand.

Of course it’s him. Who else would it be—definitely not the Avengers calling him to ask if he wants to join, no he had been _woken up_ from that dream _._

“It’s two in the morning,” Peter says, voice still slurred by sleep.

“You don’t sound very happy to hear from me,” Wade’s voice replies from the other line. There’s a slight static in the background, but it’s enough to remind him that he’s still there. “I’ve been gone for a week. Thought you might miss me. Sort of.”

“I’ll miss you in the morning.”

“But Peter,” he whines, “This isn’t even a _fun_ assignment. I’ve killed maybe three guys, who were really sleezy assholes, and I’ve had nothing but cereal the last two days. I might die. Or go into a coma.”

Wouldn’t that be nice, Peter thinks to himself, but indulges Wade for whatever reason. Damn affection. “Alright, fine, I’m awake.”

“What are you wearing?”

Peter blanches. “A t-shirt. You know what I wear to bed.”

“My shirt?” Wade asks hopefully. He’s not really sure what Wade’s inclination for Peter wearing his clothes is about, but he’s found himself giving into it more often. Not because the fabric smells familiar, like the scent of Mexican food and gunpowder—never would he have associated the two with something semi comforting before Wade.

“Yea,” he admits, pulling on the cotton shirt self consciously. His eyes start to adjust to the darkness of the room to the point he can make out the edges of his desk and the clutter there. It’s quiet—and maybe would even be considered peaceful if it isn’t for the the cell phone now propped between his chin and shoulder as he sits up in bed.

Wade makes a pleased noise, “And what else?”

“Why,” Peter clears his throat, pausing, “Why does that matter?”

“Baby you are killing me here. And the mood,” he tuts at him. Wade doesn’t sound remotely tired, but Peter isn’t sure if that’s because the merc is in a different time zone or because it’s _Wade_ who can do things like be obnoxiously coherent at ungodly hours.

Peter lets his head fall back against the wall. “Are you trying to have phone sex with me?”

“I always knew you were a genius. Anywho. Nothing else under there?”

“Boxers?” Peter answers hesitantly, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. Part of him is glad that Wade can’t actually see him, but the uncertainty in his voice would probably give him away.

“Take them off,” Wade instructs before continuing, a slight rustling noise in the background, “I bet you look hot in nothing but a shirt. Would fuck you in that.”

Peter can feel the heat rising to his face, both at the words—how can he say that without sounding even _partially_ ashamed or embarrassed?—and the image that the words elicit. He does think of it, if Wade could be there with him, pushing him back and shoving the shirt up enough to expose the skin of his chest.

He’s not really sure what he’s supposed to reply with, so he hums in acknowledgement and tries to swallow the mix of nervous and excited tangles. The boxers remain in place, but he doesn’t tell Wade that.

“Tell me how badly you want to blow me.” The voice on the other end of the phone is lower now, the same kind of husky tone that Peter is used to being whispered against his shoulder when he’s on his knees.

But something just seems too _weird_ about describing that to a plastic device instead of the warm body that should be making those lustful, crazed looks at him when he does so. And then encourages him to _act_ on said description. It feels too odd when Peter is laying in his bed, alone, with an uncomfortable weight in his stomach. 

“Uhm, badly, I guess?” It’s not that he doesn’t want to, because actually he really would if Wade was _there_ ; it’s the nervousness clenching up his thought process, not even being able to think in a remotely sexual manner because what is he even supposed to say to that? Anything he can think of sounds like a poorly written smut paperback. 

“Jesus, Spidey,” Wade says after a long moment, “You’re worse at this than the Titanic soundtrack on autotune.” 

He leans forward, curling in on himself with an embarrassed groan, “Well I’m sorry I don’t regularly practice phone sex.” 

“Just ease up,” Wade makes it sound like it’s so easy, “This is fun. I promise!”

“Peer pressure. Bad.”

“No. Peer pressure _good_. Remember all the good times we’ve had when you say no and I don’t listen?”

He really can’t. 

With a sigh, he gives in. “Oh…fudge it. Fine.”

“I’m taking that as a yes with all that enthusiasm,” Wade supplies too cheerfully.

“Wade.”

The merc laughs, but pauses for a moment as if in thought. “If I was there with you right now, I’d climb in through your window—without all that security shit, this is a sex fantasy so I can get rid of that. Anyways. And you’d be all laid out for me. No. Actually, you’d be _tied up_.”

Peter breathes in, allowing himself to lay back and let his muscles relax. He focuses just on Wade’s voice, for once slow and articulate like he wants Peter to hang on his words, to soak them up and visualize it all.

“You’d be squirming on the bed, wrists over your head and so _hard_ for me,” Wade continues, “And I’d only touch you until you begged me to. Just barely touching your cock.”

That earns him a sharp inhale and soon enough Peter is reaching a guilty hand into his boxers to wrap around his half hard cock. Wade sounds like he’s doing something of the same, though, judging by the low hum of approval at the noise Peter makes.

“Would you want me to fuck you when you couldn’t move away?” Wade practically coos, voicing hitching slightly. 

“Yea,” the answer is breathy with a trace of a moan. He slides his fingers down the length, wrapping around the base as he lazily jerks himself to full hardness.

“I’d have your legs over my shoulder, pushing into you until you make that little noise whenever I’m all the way in.”

Peter can’t help but actually moan at that; his eyes have already slipped closed, imagining what Wade narrates for him. Just the thought makes his skin burn and the hand on his cock quicken. 

“You just keep moaning for me like that, baby,” Wade says and Peter wonders if he’s getting off on this like he is—which is a stupid question because he knows he is, he can recognize the nuances in his voice that give away his arousal. But he wonders what Wade looks like on the phone with him, describing this while jerking off. 

“I’d make you _scream_ when I was fucking you, though. God, I’d fuck you so hard. _Peter.”_ His name comes out as a guttural moan, his words quicker. 

“Wade,” Peter chokes over a noise of pleasure, feeling himself get closer as he works his cock, “ _Wade._ Please…gonna come.”

“Mm then come, Peter. Imagine how hard I am in you and how badly you’d want to come around me,” he encourages, though he sounds like he himself is on the brink. It’s enough to send Peter spiralling over the edge of bliss, coming thickly into his hand as he moans out Wade’s name. He hears Wade’s own deep breathing, whispering his name quickly as he finishes. 

The moments after his orgasm had faded are awkward, cold, and sticky. Peter wrinkles his nose, reaching over for a tissue to clean himself off with. 

“Good?” Wade asks, sounding more smug than usual.

“Yea. Would be better with you here though,” Peter admits, holding the phone to his ear as he slips under the covers.

“True, but it was still pretty fucking fun. I’ll be at your place tomorrow anyways.”

Peter is too tired to really process anything he says after that, but keeps the phone propped against his ear and the pillow so he can just listen to his voice. Wade keeps rambling on about something, but by the time he notices, Peter had already been lulled back to sleep.  



End file.
